


Moonlighting

by lamardeuse



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/F, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 05:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2801081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Jake found another golden opportunity to reveal the full scope of his genius, Rosa was assigned with Amy to get some witness statements to a home invasion. Given the choice, she would have preferred to stick around the station and watch Peralta be an asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlighting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fenellaevangela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenellaevangela/gifts).



> Thanks so much to fenellaevangela for the fantastic prompts! I hope this is somewhere in the neighbourhood of what you were looking for. :)
> 
> Note: Additional warnings at the end.

“Rosa Diaz, _I know your secret_.”

Rosa hooked one arm over the back of her chair and half-turned to Peralta, who was sitting directly behind her at the morning briefing. She lifted one side of her mouth, an expression she privately thought of as her Scary Spice Smile.

“No, really. I am an amazing detective, and a genius, and I have detected up a storm, and I _know things_.”

Rosa let the corner of her mouth drop again. “Uh-huh.”

“Uh-oh, Jake, you got an 'uh-huh',” Boyle said, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “That usually precedes a punch in the throat. I've seen it – the last guy, God, he was making these terrible wheezing sounds for like, twenty min –”

“While I appreciate your concern, Charles,” Peralta interrupted smoothly, “I am willing to risk a throat-punch in pursuit of the truth.”

“You must be super bored,” Santiago sighed.

“ _You Must Be Super Bored_ : name of your sex tape,” Peralta shot back. He rose to his feet and began to pace with his hands behind his back, like he was smart or British or something. “But seriously, folks, I have the answer to why Rosa isn't coming to the annual non-denominational holiday of your choosing party. Why, in fact, she has missed no less than eleven social gatherings over the past three and a half years. It is also, coincidentally, the reason that she never tells us anything about her personal life.”

“I thought that was just because she doesn't like talking to us,” Scully chimed in.

“That's why _you_ don't know anything about her personal life,” Peralta allowed. “But the real reason Rosa is so secretive...it will stun you. It will astound you. It will –”

“Have to wait,” Terry said as he strode into the room.

“Sarge, you have the worst dramatic timing in the history of ever,” Peralta said, throwing himself down in a chair like a petulant toddler.

Having decided that chanting, “Ha ha, you're a loser” would be rubbing salt in the wound, Rosa took the high ground of a derisive snort. But she did think it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before Jake found another golden opportunity to reveal the full scope of his genius, Rosa was assigned with Amy to get some witness statements to a home invasion. Given the choice, she would have preferred to stick around the station and watch Peralta be an asshole.

Things had been kind of awkward between her and Amy for a few weeks, since Rosa had gone out drinking after she'd broken up with Marcus. Well, not exactly broken up – he'd gotten a job in Cleveland (Cleveland, jeez) and they'd agreed neither of them was ready for a long-distance thing. But even though they'd ended it on good terms, it wasn't what either of them had wanted, and Rosa had proceeded to get kind of spectacularly drunk.

She still didn't know how Amy had found her, considering nobody from work knew about that bar. It was around the corner from her house and pretty much a dive, but the guy who owned it wasn't a creep, and the rum wasn't watered down. Which was probably why the room was spinning counter-clockwise by drink number six. Rosa always hated it when she started out counter-clockwise: the night never ended well.

“Rosa?”

Rosa blinked at the sound of her name, and wondered why one side of her face felt squashed. Oh, huh, because she was lying with her head on the table. That would be why thestale beer smell was so strong. Just for the hell of it, she tried lifting it, but her neck muscles seemed to have gone on strike.

Suddenly, Amy's face appeared right in front of her own, a worried frown creasing her brow. “Rosa? It's Amy. Amy Santiago.”

“I know who y'are,” Rosa sighed. “The hell you doin' here?”

“Here?” Amy looked around, like she was confused by her surroundings. “I, um, I always come here. It's a great place.”

“No, you don't. And s'a shithole. Y're a terrible liar.”

“I'm not lying!”

“Never go und'cover,” Rosa mumbled. “Be dead in 'bout eight seconds.”

“I've been undercover!” Amy protested. “I'm just no good at lying to you. Or Jake. Or Captain Holt.”

“So everybody you're secretly in love with,” Rosa smirked. “What? No! That would be silly. I mean, Captain Holt is...”

With a mighty effort, Rosa raised both eyebrows at her.

“...happily married,” Amy finished. “And you're in a relationship, and Jake is too, but I don't love any of you anyway so why am I even talking about your lack of availability like that matters!”

“Marcus'n I broke up,” Rosa managed. “Well. Not exactly. He's moving to Cleveland.”

Amy blinked. “Wow, _Cleveland_ ,” she said feelingly, like somebody might say, “Wow, the _third moon of Saturn._ ” Wait, did Saturn have three moons? That sounded like the kind of crap Amy would know.

“Yeah,” Rosa agreed, trying to nod. Okay, no, that was a mistake. She tried shaking her head. Oh, worse, definitely worse.

“Can you actually lift your head?” Amy said, tilting her own like a curious spaniel.

“Not really,” Rosa admitted. “Which sucks, 'cuz I'm probably getting a communi – a commic – some kinda germs. All over m'face.”

“Yeah, you should probably, um,” Amy said, crouching down and flapping her hands uncertainly around Rosa's face for a few seconds before trying to wedge a hand under her head.

“Ow,” Rosa said.

“Oh God, your cheek is stuck to the table,” Amy said.

“'Kay,” Rosa said cheerfully, closing her eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rosa must have blocked out what happened next, but she vaguely remembered it involved three bar towels, a pile of coasters and a spatula.

Over her objections, Amy had insisted on helping her drag her sorry drunken ass back to her apartment, and in typical Amy fashion proceeded to make her drink about six gallons of water.

“Jeez, okay, my liver is floating, thanks, go away,” Rosa managed, dumping the rest of the glass into the sink.

“Are you going to puke now?” Amy said primly.

Rosa pondered the question for a second. The room was now slowly spinning clockwise, which was a good sign. “Doubt it.”

“Good,” Amy said, nodding with satisfaction. Rosa wanted to roll her eyes but that would probably be a very, very bad idea. Amy took a deep breath. “Well, I'd – uh, I'd better let you sleep, huh?” She raised a hand to touch Rosa's arm, but pulled away before she could make contact. “Good night,” she said softly, turning to go.

“Amy.”Amy turned back around at that. “Listen, uh, thanks. I mean it.”

Amy shrugged. “I didn't do anything.”

“Hey, stopping me from drowning in my own puke is something.” Her mouth jerked up in one corner.

“Well, okay, you can thank me, then,” Amy said, smiling.

And over three weeks later, Rosa still wasn't exactly sure what had possessed her – she had been drunk, but she hadn't been that drunk – but suddenly she was leaning forward and kissing Amy on the cheek. At least that's what she'd intended to do, but maybe her aim was off, or Amy turned at the last moment, because she ended up pressing her lips to Amy's instead.

The thing was, Amy's lips pressed back.

It was over in maybe three seconds, which was about two and a half seconds longer than it should have lasted considering Rosa had been pretty damn sure she wasn't interested in kissing Amy Santiago. As for whether Amy was interested in kissing Rosa, she was also pretty damn sure she had that answer, considering Amy's eyes were heavy-lidded and more than a little bit dazed when Rosa pulled back.

“What was that for?” Amy asked.

“You said I could thank you,” Rosa murmured.

Amy's gaze searched Rosa's face; whatever she found made her take a step back. “Get some rest, okay? Things will look better in the morning.”

 _Right now, I'm just hoping they look less weird_ , Rosa thought as Amy let herself out of the apartment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So what do you think Jake was going to say this morning?” Amy's question – the first words they'd spoken since getting in the car – forced Rosa from her reverie.

“About what?”

“About you. About your 'deep, dark secret'.”

“You said that like it was a quote, but that's not what he said.”

“Ha! So you do remember.”

“So what? That was just Peralta being an asshole. It's his default mode.”

“You're not even a little curious?”

“No,” Rosa said. “Because I don't have any secrets.”

Amy made a noise that sounded like a cross between a snort and a fart. A snart, maybe.

“I have a couple,” Rosa allowed. “But everybody has secrets.”

“As long as you're not worried,” Amy said airily. Rosa hated it when she was airy. “You know, about him saying something you don't want other people to know.”

“I'm not.”

“Okay, great,” Amy said. “Forget I said anything.”

Rosa glanced at Amy. She was gnawing at her lip, which usually meant she either needed a cigarette or was about to do something she knew would piss everybody off.

She had the cigarette as soon as they got out of the car, sucking on it like it was the last one on earth, but she still kept chewing on her lip all through the interviews. Rosa wondered briefly how long it would take her to get whatever was bugging her off her chest, then forgot about it.

Rosa was reminded at two-thirty that morning when Amy showed up in the middle of everything, which should have had the usual effect of annoying the crap out of her. But then sixteen hours was a new record in self-restraint for Santiago, and besides, if she hadn't shown up, Rosa would probably be dead.

So it was pretty much fifty-fifty, really.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whatever Jake thought he knew about her, Rosa was pretty sure it wasn't this. Nobody outside her family had ever known, but it wasn't like it was hard to keep that from people. It was usually the last thing they expected to be your one Big Secret, right after “member of the Scottish mafia” and “likes scrapbooking”.

There wasn't any pattern to it. Rosa didn't get any uncontrollable urges before the full moon like in those European stories, but then with her it was a choice. The only thing she felt was the sense of _tonight, yes, tonight_ , and then she knew there would be work to do.

She wasn't the only one in New York; there were about a half dozen in Brooklyn alone, though it wasn't like they belonged to a club or hung out together. She knew she was the only woman, though, because she could smell them on the nights she went out – and also, the whole tradition was so fucking sexist it was ridiculous. Even her own uncle disapproved of her doing it, which was bullshit because it wasn't like being a man made it easier; in fact, Rosa figured it was probably easier for her, because men were raised to be noticed, and that was the way you got caught.

A few years ago, one of them had been shot on the Lower East Side – when the cops found him, he'd changed back, which made them throw out the anonymous report they'd received about an escape from the zoo. The _Daily News_ picked it up and caused a minor panic, and nobody could make their rounds for a week. Rosa punched the guy in the face when he'd been released from the hospital, because she knew of three assaults she could have prevented in Bushwick alone. At least he never practiced again, not in New York, anyway; like she said, they weren't a club, but the message had been sent.

Lately, though, Rosa was beginning to wonder if she'd be the next one to mess up. She'd been distracted, and she was never distracted. That was how you ended up dead with some guy standing over your furry carcass. Rosa hated to think what would happen if she died that way – the nine-nine would waste months and hundreds of hours trying to find her, and they'd never know she'd been taken off to the pet cemetery. It was definitely one of the down sides to the – job? Hobby? It wasn't either of those, but at the same time she wouldn't go so far as to say it was a calling; that sounded pretentious.

It was just the family business. But since that night with Amy, the family business had been the last thing on her mind.

And that was dangerous.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Earlier that night, Rosa discouraged two guys in Carnarsie from following a woman walking alone. They catcalled her a few times, and had just about caught up with her when Rosa approached them, hiding in the shadows. They slowed their pace, then stopped in their tracks.

“Should we...” one of them began. “Yeah, hell yeah, let's get the fuck out of here,” the other said, and as though they'd choreographed it, they turned as one and began walking off the other way.

Usually that was all it took: the sensation that _someone_ knew what you were doing, was a witness, which almost invariably came right before the conviction that some Bad Shit might happen if you decided to cross whatever line you were about to cross. The times Rosa had actually been forced to show herself were extremely rare, and she was just fine with that, because there was usually a lot of screaming and crying and pleading and praying. Nobody enjoyed dealing with screaming and crying and pleading and praying people, even if they deserved to piss themselves (yeah, a few had done that, too).

As the night wore on, though, either the people got more hardcore, or she wasn't doing something right. She hated to think it was the latter, but the fact she kept thinking about Amy and her damn lip-chewing was proof she was in danger of getting herself into some serious trouble. She was just about to call it a night when she heard a cry from about three blocks away.

Gathering herself, she sprung from the shadows, relying on her speed to conceal her form.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Damn, it was a guy with a gun. And it was a guy with a gun who was clearly experienced in using it on other people.

He was talking fast in what sounded like Dutch, and he was standing over a guy who was on the ground, his head down, pleading for his life in Chilean-accented Spanish; great, a regular United Nations of executions. Rosa knew she only had seconds, but took a fraction of one to curse her inattention: normally, her senses would have alerted her before the situation escalated to this point. There were only two choices, and she decided she was too far away to jump him, so that left her with one.

She stepped out of the shadow of the building and growled.

Okay, so it was more of a yowling screech. Growl sounded cooler.

The guy startled and the gun swung around toward her, which was what she'd hoped for. The other guy lifted his head from the ground; he was already shaking, but the sight of her got him going like a bowl of jell-o in a hurricane.

“ _Runa-uturuncu_ ,” he gasped, which – fantastic – turned Dutch guy's attention right back to him.

“What did you say?” he demanded in clipped, heavily accented English. Okay, probably South African, so that was Afrikaans he was speaking before.

The other guy's mouth moved for a few seconds before he could speak. “I – I s-said – were-jaguar.”

“A were- _jaguar_?” South African guy asked, incredulous. He swung the gun back to Rosa. At least the other guy had the sense to keep his mouth shut this time; all he could manage was a frantic nod.

“How _interesting_ ,” gun guy said, which was not the usual reaction at all, and _shit_ , Rosa could see this was going to go south really fast. “That means it can understand me, yes? Can you understand me, pussy dear? You are a lady, I think.”

“ _Runa-uturuncu_ are male sorcerers,” the other guy helpfully supplied, and Rosa briefly raised her gaze heavenward. Great, she was trying to save the life of another sexist douchebag.

“Oh no, not this one,” South African guy purred. “She has such fire in her eye. She wants to save you, but I am going to put a hole in your skull before she can do so, and then I am going to kill her.” He paused. “I don't need special bullets for that, do I?”

“N-no,” the other guy stammered, and what the _hell_ , man, thanks a fucking lot.

South African guy grinned. It was the coldest expression Rosa had ever seen on a human face. It was clear that he would do exactly as he'd promised, but he was too far away to reach him in time. Still, she had to try.

Time slowed as several things seemed to happen at once.

Rosa sprang, her powerful hind legs propelling her toward her target.

The man with the gun swung his arm in a practiced, deadly arc toward the man on the ground.

And a fucking hummingbird flew out of nowhere and pecked at his face until he screamed and dropped his gun.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of course, the hummingbird turned out to be Amy. Because sometimes, Rosa's life sucked.

What happened was this: after the guy on the ground yelled out something incoherent, leapt up and took off as fast as his legs could carry him, Rosa kicked the gun out of the South African guy's reach, not that this was much of a problem because he was still screaming and writhing on the ground and clawing at his face. Rosa briefly contemplated tearing his throat out just to shut him up. The hummingbird flew up about five feet, and then it just sort of grew and the next thing Rosa knew, Amy was standing there.

“God, you are annoying,” she told the South African guy, flipping him over efficiently and cuffing him. Rosa was impressed – she could magick up a set of clothes when she shifted back, as long as everything was organic, but metal was beyond her abilities.

Amy then reached in her pocket and pulled out what looked like a tiny feather. She knelt down, placed the feather on his chest, then waved her hand over it and _pop_ , the feather was gone in a flash and a puff of smoke. Suddenly, the guy stopped struggling and went limp as a dishrag.

Wow. Rosa hadn't seen that one before.

Amy stood up. “He won't wake up for at least six hours,” she assured Rosa. “It's safe.”

Rosa froze for a moment. She realized she'd never actually shifted in front of anyone before. But then, Amy had just done the same in front of her, so Rosa supposed it was only good manners.

“Okay,” Rosa said as she straightened. “Interesting.”

“Yeah, long story, but one of my ancestors was apparently Huitzilopochtli, and every now and then - poof.”

Rosa crossed her arms over her chest. “So what you're telling me is that you're descended from an Aztec god.”

Amy shrugged. “Well, that's what my _abuela_ used to tell me, but you know how family stories are –”

“Amy,” Rosa interrupted, “you can _turn into a hummingbird_.”

“Yeah, there is that,” Amy allowed, then smiled sort of awkwardly. Jesus, Rosa refused to find that cute. You hear that? She _refused_.

“What should we do with this guy?” Amy asked, looking around, her movements still a little too quick to seem entirely human.

“I don't know,” Rosa said. “I don't want to let him get away, but we can't report it ourselves. And we don't have a vic anymore.”

“We could call in an anonymous tip,” Amy suggested. “A scumbag like this is probably already wanted somewhere.”

“Good plan. There's a pay phone down the end of the street.” Amy bent to remove her cuffs, then fell into step with Rosa.

Rosa glanced at her. “Hey, can you, uh, teach me that feather trick sometime?”

“Oh, sure,” Amy said, smiling almost bashfully ( _bashfully_ , jeez, she was the fucking great-great-great-great-great granddaugher of a god, already). “It's a little showy, but –”

“Amy?”

“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

Amy shrugged. “I didn't do anything.”

“Hey, saving my life is something.” She took a deep breath, let it out. “Even though I never would have been in trouble in the first place if it wasn't for you.”

A line appeared between Amy's brows. “Wait, what? Why?”

“I've been – off lately. Distracted.”

The line was still there, still there, still there, and then suddenly, Santiago's eyebrows were reaching for the sky. “Oh. Oh! You mean, uh –”

“Yeah. That.” Rosa rubbed the back of her neck.

“That's weird, because I got the impression you weren't all that – wait a minute, you kissed me!”

"You kissed me back.”

“So?” Amy said, stopping and drawing herself up to her full shrimpy height. “I was being polite!”

“Polite, right,” Rosa muttered. “Look, the truth is, I didn't mean to kiss you. It was – kind of a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Amy said hollowly, her face falling. “Okay.”

“The thing is, though,” Rosa said, taking a step closer, “I can't stop thinking about it. About – you. But – you have to admit it doesn't make much sense, you and me. We don't have a lot in common.”

Amy raised an eyebrow at her. Rosa rolled her eyes. “Yeah, well, I didn't _think_ we had a lot in common.”

“I understand what you're saying,” Amy said frostily. “I mean, shared shapeshifting ability is not necessarily the basis for a relationship.”

“Right.”

“We're two very different personality types.”

“Exactly.”

“Who, against all logic and reason, find one another really, really attractive.”

Rosa opened her mouth, closed it again. “Yeah. I guess.”

Amy cocked her head at her, then closed the distance between them and slid her hands up to Rosa's shoulders. “Wow, you are such a pain in the ass sometimes,” she said, and kissed her.

It was a lot better than the first time, Rosa admitted to herself. But you know, being on an adrenaline high tended to heighten your sense of – oh, fuck it, she thought, diving in for another kiss.

“Rosa Diaz,” Amy murmured, smiling against Rosa's lips, “ _I know your secret_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Trigger warning for violence against women (attempted).


End file.
